Crimson
by Marching Madly Onward
Summary: Johnny Ridden sits alone in a cheap hotel room. A gun is in his right hand, a bottle in the left. These are his thoughts.


**Crimson**

_The gun feels heavy in his hands. He'd hefted fully loaded machine guns in basic training and it couldn't even compare to the nine millimeter pistol hanging limply form his fingers. But even the weight is only a mild sensation in his thick world. The cotton in his ears stifles the sounds of a couple having an argument in the room next door. The gunk in his nose cuts off all scent. His taste buds have been all but burned off by the booze. He doesn't remember where he got it, only that it was cheap and the guy who sold it to him looked like a ball of earwax. He was actually surprised the walking hunk of slime hadn't handed him a jug with the letters "XXX" scrawled on the side. _

_But the moonshine did the job. It's knocked out almost everything. Well, everything but sight and touch. Even then, they're shot to hell. His field of vision is swimming and the chill of the room doesn't even register, although the gun refuses to be forgotten. The slick, cool metal presses against his skin like a lover seeking warmth. It feels like it's made of lead. He knows it's made of some other metal. He still has enough of what passes for a mind to remember that._

_And that makes him angry. The stuff should have thrown him into a blind, senseless stupor long ago. But he can still make out the cramped little motel room and all its dismal trappings: A bare table, a few chairs that look like matchsticks, a nightstand, and the most generic looking bed in the world. But it's soft and that comforts him in a time when all he wants is the warmth of another human being. But thoughts of human companionship invariably drag him back to thoughts of the two women he had ever really loved. The first was his mother._

Are you proud, Mom? I'm a war hero, but I'm also a drunk. Christ, I tried to be good for you. I tried to play it straight, but sliding a hand in some upper crust type's pocket was so much easier. Things only went south from there. I moved up from picking pockets to breaking an entering. But it was always easy. I was fast and young and smart for a kid without any real education. It was easy right up until they caught me. They didn't care if I lived or died. I'm still amazed they didn't just put a bullet in my head as soon as they had me in that interrogation room.

_He's thinking about the day his life as a poor-as-dirt kid trying to make end's meet comes to an end. Tony had said it would be easy. One of Side 3's many aristocrats was visiting family in Side 2, leaving the house empty. All they had to do was get in, get as much as they could carry, and get out before anyone caught on. How spectacularly even the simplest of plans can go wrong. _

_The aristocrat in question had been home. It wasn't safe to travel, with a violent power struggle raging in Side 3. His shuttle could have been hijacked by an activist with an itchy trigger finger. It wasn't hard to believe. Something not so different had happened a few weeks back. _

_So, when that fateful night came, the old fart took a knife when he surprised Tony. Johnny had never liked Tony's good luck charm. Some part of him always knew it would come to that. He hadn't known that he would go down along with the boy he had come to look at as a brother. _

_It was also the day his life as a soldier in the Principality of Zeon started. The offer had been simple: Go to jail for being an accomplice or the powers that be would overlook his hand in the robbery if he enlisted in return. He didn't want to sell his friend out, but Mama Ridden didn't raise no fool. He went along with it. _

_The guilt plagues him even now, but he would have done it time and time again because that decision let him meet the second woman he would love: Kycilia Zabi._

God, I miss you. You could have had any guy you wanted, but you chose me. You were the princess of Zeon and you wound up letting a punk like me be your shining knight. My life meant something because you, Kycilia.

_They met for the first time at a dance. Garma Zabi's graduation from the Zeon military academy had been celebrated in grand fashion. Everyone who was anyone in the colonies was there. Most of them came to brown nose Gihren and Degwin. He had been invited simply because he had been in the same class as young Mr. Zabi. _

_The whole thing made him nauseous. A part of him hated the way they cavorted around while kids were dying the gutter. He wanted to lift every last wallet in the place and almost did. Of course, that would invite an execution, given his history. _

_So, he suppressed the impulse of going down as a class martyr and plastered himself to the nearest wall. He wanted to stay out of trouble and take advantage of the free catering. He would have spent his night stuffing his face in between scowls if the band hadn't finally arrived (they were late) and struck up a tune. It was a classical piece that called for dancing. _

You looked like an angel that night. You were always beautiful—I don't care what anyone says, you were—but you were flawless when you walked up to me. I still don't know what it was that made you walk up to me. I don't know how I got so lucky.

_Johnny didn't know how to dance and even if he did, doing so would have ruined his plan. That didn't stop Kycilia from noticing the cute (if somewhat scrawny) wallflower from Garma's class. In an air of tradition and high-class strutting, Kycilia had boldly defied the standard and asked him to dance instead of taking invitations. He had been thunderstruck and she remained undeterred._

_He spent the rest of the evening in her company or not far removed hence. They danced. They talked. They laughed. She was even bold enough to tell him that she wanted to see him again. _

_As fate would have it, she did. Years had passed and the war was fast approaching when he was transferred from the Space Assault Force to a unit under her command. She never came right out said it, but he knew it hadn't been an accident. _

_In that time, before he took his first life, he was at his happiest. The affection of their youth threatened to blossom into something much more and, on some level, it did. She could never carry on him with him as a normal girl might; that would cause far too great a scandal. But he was content with being near her. _

_But nothing lasts. His mother met her end at the hands of cancer. He barely had time to mourn before the cold war between the Principality and the Federation turned red hot. He found himself thrown into the battlefield despite his apathy to the so-called injustices of the Federation. Gihren didn't pull the wool over his eyes with his fiery speeches about independence and righteousness. He was fighting for a woman. Maybe it was petty, but it was enough to drive him onward, racking up enough kills in the name of Zeon to earn himself a personalized paint job and a name to match. _

I hate you, Char. I hate you and I hope you burn for what you did. She trusted you and you stabbed her in the back. I never really did like you but I never hated you until you murdered her. It got old when people kept thinking I was you. But I didn't blame you for it. You were just another guy who liked the color red and knew his way around a Zaku. If only I'd known you would end up killing her like that.

She's a stain on a road thanks to you! You're a hypocrite. You think that just because you're Deikun's brat, you can do as you please. And it looks like you're right. All you have to do is tell some sob story about how sad it is that your daddy died and how it's your duty as a son and all your problems just disappear.

It's bad enough that you had to go and kill her, but then you get off Scott free for it. Its one thing to lose her, but it's another to know that the low-life murderer who dropped her is being called a hero.

_The world came apart at the seams for Johnny Ridden when he heard of Kycilia's rebellion against her brother and her subsequent death. Knowing that she hadn't trusted him enough to confide him about her plans to depose Gihren hurt him deeply. The fact that she chose Char—his rival—bruised his ego. But the thing that threw him into the emotional abyss was her death. _

_With the war over, no one really cared that one Lieutenant Johnny F. Ridden retired from the military and fled Side 3 with the clothes on his back. The citizens of the newly formed Republic of Zeon were ecstatic, but he hadn't been fighting for a nation. He had fought for her. She was his reason to survive each battle, to pour everything into his mobile suit so he could dispatch his enemies and be by her side yet again. _

_And on that note, he takes another drink from the old bottle, only to find a few drops waiting for him. He tries to suck a bit more of the slow poison out of the neck, but it's useless. Not only is it empty, the bottle offers him no solace. It was supposed to numb the pain. All it really did was throw him into a stupor that left him unable to function, forcing him to turn inward and reflect. _

_He throws the bottle to the wall, faintly happy to see it shatter. Alcohol is supposed to muddle the mind, not raise buried memories like some kind of necromancer. _

_The couple in the next room responds with a loud "thunk!" and the soft sound of female sobs. He stares at the wall where the glass hit, wondering whether or not he should go over there and let out a little stress on the abusive boyfriend. But the chivalrous side of him is long dead. That part of Johnny died with Kycilia. Most of Johnny did. All that's really left is a sluggish body and the memories that continue to dance before him in a grotesque ballet. _

_His left hand held a bottle that didn't offer any relief. Now, he looks to the right. The pistol is still there, seducing him with its finality. He mulls over the decision. He doesn't want to die but he doesn't have anything to live for, either. _

_He hears the girl crying, louder now. He doesn't know if the jerk beat on her again, said something, or left. He hopes it's the latter. But it's not. He hears the boy bark something hateful at her. _

_He doesn't have the drive to get up, go over there, and wave the gun in his face. But he does reach the conclusion that a gunshot might get them to stop. It will fill them with a fear that displaces their anger and shame. In their fear, they will latch onto each other. Once they realize the man in the next room is dead, they might even make up on the grounds that life is too short to spend angry. _

_He's not stupid. He knows the veneer of happiness will flake off and he'll start hitting her again. It's only a matter of time. But, for a little while, they might be happy. _

_And that is enough._

_Johnny presses the barrel to the side of his head. He squeezes the trigger._


End file.
